Assassin P.I. (3 page)

A voice from the hallway called out, “Five minutes, Angie.”

“I’m coming!” Angie shouted. She turned back to Jack. “He was working on something big, something that had him pretty worked up, but the last time we spoke it was through our lawyers. He wanted a divorce. Said he was ashamed of having a wife like me.”

There it was again. A dark cloud of sadness crossed her face. Tempted to take her into his arms, to chase away all the fears and doubts, Jack clenched his fists. “Then he was a fool who didn’t deserve you.”

“I was bad for his public image. We both knew it, and if he could make his case and win the election, he’d be moving up the food chain. Having a trashy wife who lives for the limelight would have only hurt his chances. That was a week before he was gunned down. You figure out what he was working on, and you’ll find his killer.”

Two minutes later, Angie took to the stage. Jack watched from the curtains, careful to st
ay in the shadows. From his vantage point, he could make out the modest crowd, mostly horny middle-aged men who wanted all the seduction and fantasy of a strip club without the stigma.

A spotlight found Angie as the opening notes of a love song seduced the smoky air. She slid her hand down the microphone stand, drew a breath, and began to sing.

Crooning a haunting melody, she sang of longing, of goodbyes, of a love not meant to be. Hushed voices stilled as she widened her stance, taking command of the stage. Her stage. Eyes closed, her voice, soft and sultry, mingled with the piano notes floating on the air, transporting the audience to another time and place.

Once, a long time ago, she used to sing for him. It was her way of escaping the nightmare she was living. Eventually she took to singing on the streets to earn money for dinner and a room for the night until he’d convinced her to stay with him. It was supposed to be her safe haven.

But he’d never been good at happy endings. Fucking things up was all he was really good at when it came to relationships. That and sex. He was good at sex. Or so he had been told.

By the time the final note faded, Jack slipped from the shadows and made his way down the hallway.

“Hey, you. Boyfriend.”

Angie’s manager stepped in the corridor, blocking Jack’s exit. He took a drag of the cigarette clenched between his lips. Smoke oozed out of his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t you be messing with my girl Angie.”

Jack contemplated how to proceed. Brushing past the pint-sized ogre would be the most professional thing to do. But then again, Jack never claimed to be professional.

“Or what?” Jack cocked his head to the side, sizing up the little man. Slamming a fist into the man’s squinty face would definitely put him back in his place, but it wasn’t worth an overnight stay in the local drunk tank. And it certainly wasn’t worth getting Angie fired.

“Or what?” Clearly unaccustomed to being challenged, the manager screwed his face up with confusion. “Whatta you mean, or what? Are you dumb or something?”

Dumb enough to let Angie go the first time, but not dumb enough to risk losing her again.

“It’s a simple question comprised of two small words. Or what?”

“Or I’ll pulverize you, that’s what.”

Taking in the man’s aggressive stance and overt threat of violence, Jack took his time responding. Switching to a neutral body position, he tried to defuse the situation. He put his hands up in surrender. “Okay.”

The light above flickered as Angie’s manager crossed the space between them. He poked a finger in Jack’s chest. “Okay? Okay you’ll leave Angie alone? Or okay you want your pretty face pulverized?”

Jack clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you it isn’t polite to poke people?”

Clamping down on the finger that pressed into his skin, Jack twisted around. It would be so easy to break his finger. It wouldn’t even take much pressure, just the right amount of leverage.

The manager whimpered in pain, his face contorted.

Exercising an exorbitant amount of self-restraint, Jack released the man’s hand. Brushing the wrinkles out of the man’s suit, Jack issued a warning of his own. “Now. You’re going to walk away, and we’ll both pretend this never happened. And if you ever threaten to hurt me or Angie? Well, let’s just say, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Cradling his hand, the manager glared at Jack but didn’t stop him as he turned to leave, heading out the door and into the cool night air.

Call it dumb luck, but as far as Jack was concerned, he’d just found his first suspect.

Chapter 3

Night after night, Angie hit the stage, crooning songs of love, lust, and heartache. Her version of family therapy. But tonight her less-than-stellar performance, coupled with seeing Jack again, twice in one day, had done little to alleviate her conflicted heart. Even the audience seemed to be in a foul mood. By the time the set was over and she’d taken a seat at the bar, Angie had slipped into a deep funk.

Sally Ann, bartender extraordinaire and mother hen to all the performers, placed a glass of ice water in front of Angie. “Shake it off, baby girl, shake it off. Those horny old men don’t know real talent when they hear it.”

Maggie, a dark beauty with ringlet curls and a knack for singing sultry jazz, ducked behind the counter to drop off a tray of empty glasses. “Nice set tonight, Ang. Don’t let this dud of a crowd get to you. You know Sunday nights are always filled with weirdoes and wack jobs.”

Angie rolled her shoulders, feeling the kinks and knots that had been forming ever since she’d walked into Jack’s office. All day long she’d daydreamed of Jack’s long fingers, chasing away her worries, kneading her skin until it was pliable and warm. When was the last time she’d had a proper massage?

“It’s not that. It’s just . . .”

She paused, unable to put her finger on what was really eating away at her. Until today, the only place she’d seen Jack was in the dreams that occasionally plagued her, leaving her flushed with an intense yearning to be touched. But indulging in a tryst in her fantasies was nothing compared to seeing him in real life. Tasting his lips and feeling the power that coursed through his veins did nothing but fan the embers of desire. It was almost embarrassing how easily she’d been reduced to a quivering mass in his arms. Despite how their relationship had ended the last time, a fiery fate she was surely doomed to repeat if she indulged in acting out her fantasies, Angie couldn’t help but crave another of his kisses.

She wasn’t so certain how long she could resist him. At the moment, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to try and that scared her. Losing her heart again wasn’t in her best interest. Not now, not ever. And definitely not to Jack.

Was she truly doing the right thing, coming back to Ellington Bay? Did it even matter if her motives were pure? She doubted Jack would see it that way. There was only one way this thing with Jack could end. Badly.

Angie wrapped her fingers around the glass and took a drink, wishing that the cold liquid could soothe her troubled spirit as easily as it numbed her parched throat. Aware of Sally Ann’s intense scrutinizing gaze, and Maggie’s penchant for gossiping, Angie did her best to act nonchalant. She shrugged and smiled, saying, “I guess I’m just having an off night, that’s all.”

Unconvinced, Sally Ann crossed her arms and stared Angie down. “Hmm. It guess it wouldn’t have nothing at all to do with the my
sterious man I saw leaving your dressing room earlier, now would it?”

That piqued Maggie’s interest. “That hunk belongs to you?
Muy caliente
. You go, girl,” she said before heading back out onto the floor to deposit more drinks.

Sally Ann slung a damp dishtowel over one shoulder. “Honey-child, why do you insist on working here? This place ain’t nothin’ but quicksand for a smart, young thing like you. Just look at me.” She stood back and twirled around slowly. “Believe it or not, once upon a time I was just like you . . . smart, pretty, and could sing as sweet as a nightingale.”

Her sincerity rang true even though her southern-bell drawl was about as real as her enormous lips and perky boobs were. And for a Dolly Parton impersonator? That was saying something.

Angie shrugged. “I don’t know. I kinda like it here.”

With an ogre for a boss and the constant threat of being groped by a drunken customer, what wasn’t to like?

Sally Ann shook her head and tsked. “Nobody likes it here. Not even the customers. Ain’t that right, boys?” she called to the men bellied up to the bar.

“Anything you say, Miss Sally Ann,” one of the men replied.

The other belched and pushed away from the bar to stagger toward the stage.

Angie turned around and rested her back against the bar, her elbows propping her up, eyes trained on the glittering girl dancing in the spotlight.

“I get to sing,” she said. “In here, I can be anyone I want to be. I can be sweet one minute, sassy the next. Vixen or victim, damsel in distress or mistress of the night.” At least that part was true. She did love being on stage.

Sally Ann laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt you like to sing and dance and play dress up. You’ve got pipes made of sheer gold, but you’re wasting your talent. Check out that girl up there dancing her heart out. Do you think the men who wallow in this joint appreciate her for her talent?”

“A stage is a stage. Ain’t that right, Maggie?” Angie said as Maggie passed by again.

A round of catcalls went through the crowd as a new girl, dressed like Marilyn Monroe, took to the stage.

“Listen to Sally Ann. Lord knows I wish I had.” Maggie balanced a tray of overpriced, watered-down drinks on one hand while she adjusted what little cleavage she had with the other. In the club, big tits equated to big tips. Tugging her pleated skirt lower, she held the tray up high and disappeared into the depths of the dark club.

Marco rounded the corner, his head swinging back and forth as he scanned the customers. Something had his panties in a bunch, and whatever it was, Angie feared she was the cause. She downed the rest of her water and grabbed a tray.

Spotting Angie, Marco’s eyes, dark as coal, locked on to hers. His nostrils flared as he made his way across the floor, stalking her every move. “You tell that boyfriend of yours, he ain’t welcome in my club. Next time I see him walk in here”—he paused to crack his knuckles—“he won’t be able to walk back out.”

Jack scanned the bar, searching the
patrons for Deluca. In its heyday, a smoky haze would have cloaked the small dance floor, affording enough privacy for off-duty patrolmen to talk shop and brag about their latest takedown while they carried on secret affairs with a mistress. Though the smoking ban had gone into effect a few years back, the joint was still a favorite hangout for aging cops.

He spotted Deluca perched on a barstool and shouldered his way through the crowd to join him. He bellied up to the bar. “Starting without me?”

The meeting with Angie had him running late, and from the looks of things, his friend was less than impressed with his fashionable tardiness. Jack swiveled around to scan the patrons. Right away he picked out a few familiar faces, some of his old friends in blue.

“So what if I did?” Deluca chugged his beer, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He motioned to the bartender to bring him another.

The bartender swiped the counter with his towel before flinging it over one shoulder. “What’ll it be, Jack?”

“The usual.”

“One scotch on the rocks coming up.” The bartender caught Jack’s eye, jerked his head to the side where Deluca sat downing another beer and flashed four fingers. He reached into a dish and jingled Deluca’s car keys.

Trouble in Deluca paradise.

Jack acknowledged the message with a nod and turned to watch Deluca finish off another drink. Watching his friend implode wasn’t part of the plans for the night. If he was going to get any answers, he’d need Deluca’s memory intact. Jack caught the tumbler that slid down the counter toward him. He swirled his scotch, inhaling the strong scent of the whiskey. “You might want to slow down there, Sarge.”

“That’s Chief to you. It’s a celebration, and what’s a party without beer?” Deluca slapped his hand down on the bar. “Bartender keep ‘em comin’.” The bartender furrowed his brow, but filled the glass up and set it down before Deluca.

“Yeah, I saw the article in yesterday’s paper. Congrats, by the way.” He removed the newspaper from a pocket on the inside of his coat and set it on the bar. The headline was bold, brandishing the former Chief of Police as a womanizing pervert who wasn’t afraid of using his office to get some tail. The picture was worse, having caught the man with his pants down. Literally. At the end of the article, it named Sam Deluca as the new Chief, the lucky man who would inherit the mess and be charged with cleaning it up. As bad as the article made the police department seem, it was no worse than any of the scores of other scandals to rock the PD in recent years. Hell, he’d even been in the news a time or two himself. Sooner or later, another debacle would come along and everyone would forget all about the former Chief’s indiscretions.

“Now if we were throwing a real party, we would be at home with your wife and kids. They should be celebrating with you. Being appointed Chief of Police for Ellington Bay is a big deal.” Jack took a drink of his scotch, letting the familiar burn warm his insides and dull all thoughts of Angie.

Deluca set his beer down hard, the dark swill rocking in the glass. “Janie left me. Took Izzy and Jake with her.”

Jack groaned to himself. Talk about lousy timing. “She finally wised up? Maybe if you weren’t hanging out at some sleazy bar on the west end of town, you’d have a shot at getting her back.”

Deluca stood, swaying slightly, and grabbed his coat. “Go to hell, Jack. I don’t need your crap tonight. If I wanted someone to nag at me, I would’ve called my wife. At least she’s prettier on the eyes than you are.”

“Sit down before you make a scene.” No one was paying them any attention for the time being, but Deluca had enough friends who’d gladly come to his aid if it meant taking a swing at Jack.

“What are you, my god-damned babysitter or something? I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

Nothing new there. His relationship with Deluca had always been somewhat dysfunctional at best, but he was the only pseudo father Jack had. Jack picked up both their drinks and led the way to a large booth where they could speak freely without fear of prying ears.

Deluca flopped down on the plush seat, a testament to just how liquored up he truly was.

Jack waited until Deluca was settled, and a loud, raucous song began playing before getting to the business at hand. “So tell me about this case of yours.”

Why he was even bothering to ask was beyond him. A smarter man might choose to remain blind to the evils of the world, but not Jack. He had a sadistic hunger to know what danger lurks in every shadow, an obsessive desire to rid the world of every criminal that fed on the people of his town . . . innocent people like Trevor Santino and Angela Zaro . . . and good people like his father. But he couldn’t help them anymore, couldn’t go down that rabbit hole of misery again, not without losing his soul this time. He was done, but still couldn’t stop himself from asking anyhow.

“It’s an easy one. Nothing you can screw up this time.” Deluca glanced behind him before handing over a large manila envelope. “Meet Benicio Acevedo.”

Jack opened the envelope and withdrew a mug shot. A mid fifty-something man of Latin blood and dark brooding eyes stared back. Other than the small scar that marred his otherwise flawless chin, the man could pass for a model, ala Marlon Brando style, not a wanted criminal.

“Benny here is guilty of cooking and distributing heroin laced with fentanyl. His bad batch of smack got a couple of kids killed on the south side of town.”

Drug dealers were a dime a dozen in this town. It’s what Deluca didn’t say that got Jack’s attention. The death of a child tended to rile people up. While the town mourns its loss, the reporters capitalize on every tearful wail. But there’d been no such news. Poor kids from broken homes living the wrong side of town didn’t make the news. No one was mourning the loss of a few teens who’d OD’d. It was like a knife to the gut. Someone had to avenge their deaths. If not him, then who?

“Sounds like an easy case for the DA to make. You don’t need me.”

“Hernandez is an incompetent fool and Bad-Batch Benny’s well connected with a slimy, but smart, lawyer. Always seems to find some way to weasel out of going to trial. Word on the street is he’s no stranger to taking out his competition, shutting them up for good. Only a bullet to the head will work on a scumbag like him. Trust me, I need you on this one. This case is right up your ally.”

“I told you I’m out. I’m done.”

Deluca chuckled. He fished a cigarette out of his coat and lit it, disregarding the smoking ban. He took a long drag before answering. “You’re done when I say you are. Do your job and I’ll make sure you don’t get pinched.”

Jack peered inside the envelope at the loaded Sig resting atop a neat pile of paperwork and a wad of cash. “It’s clean?”

“What do I look like? An idiot? I didn’t get this promotion by being a dumbass. You know the drill. You shoot. You clean. I return it to lock-up where it connects a bad guy to an even badder crime. It’s what I like to call”—Deluca paused and smiled—“a win-win situation.”

Then why was
he
the only one taking all the risks?

He studied the contents of the documents. A map revealed the exact layout of Benny’s house and lab. Snapshots disclosed the color, make, and license plate number of Benny’s car. Case notes divulged any other pertinent details that would make it easy to locate the man. Where he banked, who his dentist was, the name of his wife, and the name of his mistress would only serve to make this a straightforward case. Except for one thing.

Murder was still murder.

“Jesus Christ, Jack. I thought you’d be happy to get back in the saddle again.”

“It’s not that.” He couldn’t explain it, but something had changed in him. He wasn’t the same man anymore.

“Then what is it? If you’re worried about that last case, don’t be. I already took care of it.”

That was only part of it. No cop ever liked to see a case go south, and when a kid got caught in the crosshairs, it really screws with a man. But there was more to it than that.

“Angie’s back.” Jack saw the tinge of disapproval that crossed Deluca’s face.

“Christ, Jack, I thought you were done messing around with her.”

“I was. I am.” He took a breath. “She’s got a job for me.”